


enigma (new)

by place_called_space



Series: riddled with mystery [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Harry Potter, BAMF Hermione Granger, Cunning Harry Potter, Dark Harry Potter, Dark Magic, Dark Magic Rituals (Harry Potter), Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, F/M, Good Slytherins, Harry Potter is Resorted, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, Harry Potter is a Little Shit, Harry takes no shit, Horcruxes, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Morally Grey Harry Potter, Post-Sirius Black in Azkaban, Sirius Black as Padfoot, Slytherin Harry Potter, The Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter) is Terrible, Under the Influence of Horcruxes, the-boy-who-lived-to-frustrate-the-dark-lord
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:02:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28882149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/place_called_space/pseuds/place_called_space
Summary: When every card in the deck is stacked against you, the only way to win a hand is to break the rules.Expelled, resorted, and more than a little bitter, Harry James Potter will have to do something he's never done before: walk through the halls of Hogwarts with different people at his side, wearing different colors. As the war starts once more, Harry faces a startling moral dilemma: how much is he willing to do, how far will he go to get what he wants?
Series: riddled with mystery [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2168166
Comments: 17
Kudos: 150





	1. The Most Exciting Day

**Author's Note:**

> What's up, nerds!
> 
> This is the new, revised version of 'enigma'! The plot in this story will move decidedly slower than the old version's did, but I hope you all stick around for each chapter! I'm honestly so excited for this :) I will not be following a set schedule for updates, I feel that's why the plot was so rushed in the old story. 
> 
> One last thing, no spoilers in the comments. Don't ask if an element from the old story will make an appearance in the new one. Something I've revealed pretty early in the old story will take a LOT longer to make a cameo in this one, so please don't spoil anything for the new readers. 
> 
> I hope you guys are as excited for this as I am!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *sigh* Dementors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry's internal monologue will be important here! It will influence his thoughts later on in the story. Also, don't expect Harry to look through rose-tinted glasses at the world; he's seen the dark underbelly of the wizarding world, which is why his actions next chapter (hehe) won't really line up with the canon interpretation of Harry. 
> 
> Dialogue will be mostly the same as in canon (as it is the internal monologue that matters here) but things will start to deviate next chapter. 
> 
> Happy reading!

“'S' up, Figgy?” said the squat man called Mundungus, staring from Mrs. Figg to Harry and Dudley. “What 'appened to staying undercover?”

“I'll give you undercover!” Mrs. Figg cried as Harry felt his eyebrows draw together in the middle. “Dementors, you useless, skidding sneak thief!”

“Dementors?” repeated Mundungus, eyes wide. “Dementors here?”

“Yes, here, you worthless pile of bat droppings, here!” shrieked Mrs. Figg at an alarming volume. “Dementors attacking the boy on your watch!”

On his watch?

“Blimey,” said Mundungus weakly, looking from Mrs. Figg to Harry and back again. “Blimey, I…”

"And you off buying stolen cauldrons! Didn't I tell you not to go? Didn't I?”

“I - well, I -” Mundungus looked deeply uncomfortable. “It... it was a very good business opportunity, see…”

Harry watched with amusement as Mrs. Figg raised the arm from which her string bag dangled and whacked Mundungus around the face and neck with it; judging by the clanking noice it made it was full of cat food.

“Ouch - gerroff - gerroff, you mad old bat! Someone's gotta tell Dumbledore!”

“Yes - they - have!” yelled Mrs. Figg, swinging the bag of cat food at every bit of Mundungus she could reach. “And - it - had - better - be - you - and - you - can - tell - him - why - you - weren't - there - to - help!”

“Keep your 'airnet on!” said, Mundungus, his arms over his head, cowering. “I'm going, I'm going!”

And with another loud crack, he vanished. 

“I hope Dumbledore _murders_ him!” said Mrs. Figg furiously. “Now come on, Harry, what are you waiting for?”

Harry decided not to waste his remaining breath on pointing out that he could barely walk under Dudley's bulk. He gave the semiconscious Dude a heave and staggered onward. 

~ø~

“What have you done to my son?”

“Nothing,” Harry said smoothly, knowing perfectly well that Vernon wouldn't believe him. 

“What did he do to you, Diddy?” Aunt Petunia said in a quavering voice, hovering at Dudley’s side. “Was it - was it his you-know-what, darling? Did he use - his thing?”

In between Harry rolling his eyes at the show of cowardice (the woman’s sister was a witch and she still couldn’t muster up the courage to say wand?), slowly, tremulously, Dudley had nodded. 

“I didn’t!” Harry said sharply, as Aunt Petunia let out a wail and Uncle Vernon raised his fists. “I didn't do anything to him, it was-”

But at that precise moment a screech owl swooped in through the kitchen window. Narrowly missing the top of Uncle Vernon's head, it soared across the kitchen, dropping a large parchment envelope it was carrying in its beak at Harry's feet, and turned gracefully, the tips of its wings just brushing the top of the fridge, then zoomed outside again and off across the garden. 

“OWLS!” bellowed Uncle Vernon, the well-worn vein in his temple pulsing angrily as he slammed the kitchen window shut. “OWLS AGAIN! I WILL NOT HAVE ANY MORE OWLS IN MY HOUSE!”

But Harry was already ripping open the envelope and pulling out the letter inside, his heart pounding somewhere in the region of his Adam’s apple.

> Dear Mr. Potter,
> 
> We have received intelligence that you performed the Patronus Charm at twenty-three minutes past nine this evening in a Muggle-inhabited area and in the presence of a Muggle. The severity of this breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery has resulted in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand.
> 
> As you have already received an official warning for a previous offense under Section 13 of the International Confederation of Wizards’ Statute of Secrecy, we regret to inform you that your presence is required at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9 a.m. on August 12th.
> 
> Hoping you are well,   
>  Yours sincerely,
> 
> Mafalda Hopkirk  
>  Improper Use of Magic Office  
>  Ministry of Magic

Reading the letter through twice didn’t really help Harry’s stupefied brain grasp the words on the parchment. He was only vaguely aware of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia talking in the vicinity. Inside his head, all was icy and numb. One fact had penetrated his consciousness like a paralyzing dart. He was expelled from Hogwarts. It was all over. He was never going back.

He felt like he was either going to cry unconsolably or laugh hysterically; the hiccup in his chest couldn’t seem to decide which.

_‘Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand.'_

He would have to run - now. There was nothing else he could do. Where he was going to go, Harry didn’t know, but he was certain of one thing: At Hogwarts or outside it, he needed his wand. In an almost dreamlike state, he pulled his wand out, clutching it in his hand (he wouldn’t let anyone take it from him) and turned to leave the kitchen.

“Where d'you think you're going?” yelled Uncle Vernon. Harry ignored him, and he pounded across the kitchen to block the doorway into the hall. “I haven't finished with you, boy!”

“Get out of the way,” said Harry quietly, his eyes not even focused on the lumbering man in front of him. He had to get his robes and his Cloak, his broom would probably be a great way to escape, as there was no way that he could fight off the trained Ministry operatives they would send-

“You're going to stay here and explain how my son-”

“I said, stand aside,” said Harry, raising the wand. He couldn’t have long now… the letter had arrived mere minutes after he’d cast the Patronus, and he didn’t have any extra time to waste.

“You can't pull that one on me!” snarled Uncle Vernon. “I know you're not allowed to use it outside that madhouse you call a school!”

"That madhouse has chucked me out," said Harry with a manic smile. Saying the words made them feel true, and he felt sick to his stomach. “So I can so whatever the hell I want. You've got three seconds. One - two -”

A resounding CRACK filled the kitchen; Aunt Petunia screamed, Uncle Vernon yelled and ducked, but for the third time that night Harry was staring for the source of a disturbance he had not made. He spotted it at once: A dazed and ruffled-looking barn owl was sitting outside on the kitchen sill, having just collided with the closed window.

Ignoring Uncle Vernon’s anguished yell of “OWLS!” Harry crossed the room at a run and wrenched the window open again. The owl stuck out its leg, to which a small roll of parchment was tied, shook its feathers, and took off the moment Harry had pulled off the letter. Hands shaking, Harry unfurled the second message, which was written very hastily and blotchily in black ink.

> Harry -
> 
> Dumbledore’s just arrived at the Ministry, and he’s trying to sort it all out. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR AUNT AND UNCLE’S HOUSE. DO NOT DO ANY MORE MAGIC. DO NOT SURRENDER YOUR WAND.
> 
> Arthur Weasley

Harry read this letter twice as well, though the second run through made him even more confused. How was Dumbledore supposed to overturn a decision made by the Ministry? He was just the Headmaster for Hogwarts, if those newspaper articles from the Prophet were correct. After being stripped of his title of Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, he was nothing more than a glorified teacher with barely enough power to preside over the punishments of the students of Hogwarts-

Harry inhaled sharply. He had been a student of Hogwarts when he’d cast the Patronus, perhaps Dumbledore could wretch control of his punishment from the Ministry?

Harry’s mind was racing… The trial aside, how in the nine hells was he supposed to refuse to surrender his wand without doing magic, much less without leaving Number Four… He’d have to duel with the Ministry lackeys they send, and if he did that, he’d be lucky to escape with his life, let alone expulsion. Even without casting any blatantly offensive spells, he’d still need to cast a shield or two, maybe throw in some Summoning and Transfiguration.

He could run for it (a very tempting course of action) or he could wait and hope that Dumbledore was able to sort it out… after all, Dumbledore had sorted out much worse than this before…

“Right,” Harry said, “I’ve changed my mind, I’m staying.”

He flung himself into one of the chairs at the kitchen table and faced Dudley and Aunt Petunia, who glanced despairingly at Uncle Vernon. The vein in Uncle Vernon’s purple temple was throbbing worse than ever.

“Who are all these ruddy owls from?” he growled.

“The first one was from the Ministry of Magic, expelling me,” said Harry calmly; he was straining his ears to catch noises outside in case the Ministry representatives were approaching, and it was easier and quieter to answer Uncle Vernon’s questions than to have him start raging and bellowing. “The second one was from my friend Ron’s dad, he works at the Ministry.”

“Ministry of Magic?” bellowed Uncle Vernon. “People like you in government? Oh this explains everything, everything, no wonder the country’s going to the dogs…”

When Harry did not respond, Uncle Vernon glared at him, then spat, “And why have you been expelled?”

Harry looked Vernon right in the eyes. “Because I cast a spell.”

“AHA!” roared Uncle Vernon, slamming his fist down on the top of the fridge, which sprang open; several of Dudley’s low-fat snacks toppled out and burst on the floor. “So you admit it! What did you do to Dudley?”

“I didn’t do _anything_ to him,” said Harry, slightly less calmly. “That wasn’t me-”

“Was,” muttered Dudley unexpectedly, and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia instantly made flapping gestures at Harry to quiet him - as he had opened his mouth to retort - while they both bent low over Dudley.

“Go on, son,” said Uncle Vernon, “what did he do?”

“Tell us, darling,” whispered Aunt Petunia.

“Pointed his wand at me,” Dudley mumbled.

Harry glanced up at the ceiling, asking whatever gods were listening for patience. “Yeah, I did, but I didn’t-” Harry began heatedly, but...

“SHUT UP!” roared Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia in unison.

Harry scowled and crossed his arms, huffing angrily as his spine collided with the chair rather hard.

“Go on, son,” repeated Uncle Vernon, mustache blowing about furiously.

“All dark,” Dudley said hoarsely, shuddering. “Everything dark. And then I h-heard... things. Inside m-my head...”

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia exchanged looks of utter horror. They obviously thought Dudley was losing his mind.

“What sort of things did you hear, popkin?” breathed Aunt Petunia, very white-faced and with tears in her eyes.

But Dudley seemed incapable of saying. He shuddered again and shook his large blond head, and despite the sense of numb dread that had settled on Harry since the arrival of the first owl, he felt a certain righteous anger, and he scoffed. Dementors caused a person to relive the worst moments of their life... What would spoiled, pampered, bullying Dudley have been forced to hear?

“How come you fell over, son?” said Uncle Vernon in an unnaturally quiet voice, the kind of voice he would adopt at the bedside of a very ill person.

“T-tripped,” said Dudley shakily. “And then-”

He gestured at his massive chest. Harry understood: Dudley was remembering the clammy cold that filled the lungs as hope and happiness were sucked out of you.

“Horrible,” croaked Dudley. “Cold. Really cold.”

“Okay,” said Uncle Vernon in a voice of forced calm, while Aunt Petunia laid an anxious hand on Dudley’s forehead to feel his temperature. “What happened then, Dudders?”

“Felt... felt... felt... as if... as if...”

“As if you’d never be happy again,” Harry supplied tonelessly, his many close calls with Dementors rising to the forefront of his mind.

“Yes,” Dudley whispered, still trembling.

“So,” said Uncle Vernon, voice restored to full and considerable volume as he straightened up. “So you put some crackpot spell on my son so he'd hear voices and believe he was - was doomed to misery, or something, did you?”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” said Harry, temper and voice rising together. “It wasn't me! It was a couple of dementors!”

“A couple of - what's this codswallop?”

“De - men - tors,” said Harry slowly and clearly, as though he was talking to a preschooler. “Two of them.”

“And what the ruddy hell are dementors?”

“They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban,” said Aunt Petunia. 

Two seconds' ringing silence followed these words, in which Harry’s head snapped to Aunt Petunia so fast his neck cracked, and then Aunt Petunia clapped her hand over her mouth as though she had let slip a disgusting swear word. Uncle Vernon was goggling at her. Harry's brain reeled. Mrs. Figg was one thing - but Aunt Petunia?

“How d’you know that?” he asked her, astonished. There was no way she was in contact with Dumbledore, was she? I mean, he hadn’t thought that Mrs. Figg of all people would be a Squib, but Aunt Petunia was Lily’s sister - it made some sense that she would keep in touch with the man who’d spearheaded the opposition for the man who’d killed her sister… but if she really cared that much, why was she always so awful to Harry?

Aunt Petunia, for her credit, looked quite appalled with herself. She glanced at Uncle Vernon in fearful apology, then lowered her hand slightly.

“I heard - that awful boy - telling her about them - years ago,” she said jerkily.

“If you mean my mum and dad, why don’t you use their names?” said Harry loudly, but Aunt Petunia ignored him. She seemed horribly flustered.

Harry was stunned. Except for one outburst years ago, in the course of which Aunt Petunia had screamed that Harry’s mother had been a freak, he had never heard her mention her sister. He was astounded that she had remembered this scrap of information about the magical world for so long, when she usually put all her energies into pretending it didn’t exist.

“Well, if that's all,” said Harry, getting to his feet. He was desperate to be alone, to think, perhaps to send a letter to Sirius or Hermione or Ron… hell, he’d love to send a letter to the twins as well, just so he could hear what obscenities they’d scream at the Minister if they got a chance.

“NO, IT RUDDY WELL IS NOT ALL!” bellowed Uncle Vernon. “SIT BACK DOWN!”

“What now?” said Harry impatiently. 

“DUDLEY!” roared Uncle Vernon. “I want to know exactly what happened to my son!”

“FINE!” yelled Harry, and in his temper, emerald sparks shot out of the end of his wand, still clutched in his hand. All three Dursleys flinched, looking terrified, and Harry couldn’t stop the wave of vindictive satisfaction that overtook him, reveling in their fear. 

“Dudley and I were in the alleyway between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk,” said Harry, speaking fast, fighting to control his temper. “Dudley thought he'd be smart with me, I pulled out my wand but didn't use it. Then two dementors turned up-”

“But what ARE dementoids?” asked Uncle Vernon furiously. “What do they DO?”

“I told you - they suck all the happiness out of you,” said Harry, “and if they get the chance, they kiss you-”

“Kiss you?” said Uncle Vernon, his eyes popping slightly. “ _Kiss_ you?”

“It's what they call it when they suck the soul out of your mouth.”

Aunt Petunia uttered a soft scream. 

“His soul? They didn't take - he's still got his-”

She seized Dudley by the shoulders and shook him, as though testing to see whether she could hear his soul rattling around inside him. 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Oh relax, he’ll be fine. They didn’t get his soul, you’d know if they had,” he said, beyond exasperated at this point. One measly Dementor and Dudley goes down without even trying one of boxing moves he’d avoided using on Harry.

“Fought ’em off, did you, son?” said Uncle Vernon loudly, with the appearance of a man struggling to bring the conversation back onto a plane he understood. “Gave ’em the old one-two, did you?”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “You can’t give a dementor the old one-two,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Why’s he all right, then?” blustered Uncle Vernon. “Why isn’t he all empty, then?”

“Why do you think?” Harry roared. He shoved a finger in Dudley’s direction. “The only reason he’s like _that_ and not a blubbering, drooling mess is because the spell _I_ managed to cast protected him!”

The silence sounded louder than anything Vernon had ever yelled before. Both Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were staring at him, slack-jawed. No doubt they thought he was lying, as per bloody usual-

WHOOSH. With a clattering, a whirring of wings, and a soft fall of dust, a third and a fourth owl came shooting out of the kitchen fireplace.

“FOR GOD’S SAKE!” roared Uncle Vernon, pulling great clumps of hair out of his mustache, something he hadn’t been driven to in a long time. “I WILL NOT HAVE OWLS HERE, I WILL NOT TOLERATE THIS, I TELL YOU!”

But Harry was already pulling the rolls of parchment from the owls’ leg. He was so convinced that at least one of these letters had to be from Dumbledore, explaining everything - the dementors, Mrs. Figg, what the Ministry was up to, how he, Dumbledore, intended to sort everything out - that he didn’t even feel the appropriate dread creep up on him as the long and loopy script of the Ministry stood out in stark contrast to the paper it was on. Ignoring Uncle Vernon’s ongoing rant about owls and narrowing his eyes against a second cloud of dust as the most recent owls took off back up the chimney, Harry read the Ministry’s message, clutching the other letter in his hand.

> Dear Mr. Potter,
> 
> Further to our letter of approximately twenty-two minutes ago, the Ministry of Magic has revised its decision to destroy your wand forthwith. You may retain your wand until your disciplinary hearing on 12th August, at which time an official decision will be taken.
> 
> Following discussions with the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Ministry has agreed that the question of your expulsion will also be decided at that time. You should therefore consider yourself suspended from school pending further inquiries.
> 
> With best wishes,   
>  Yours sincerely,
> 
> Mafalda Hopkirk  
>  Improper Use of Magic Office  
>  Ministry of Magic

The miserable knot in Harry’s chest loosed ever so slightly and he felt like he could breath properly, something he hadn’t noticed was hindered until now. Dumbledore had done it… he’d overridden the Ministry’s decision… Harry wasn’t expelled, though his fears were by no means banished. This hearing on the twelfth of August, it sounded as though everything was hanging on it.

“Well?” said Uncle Vernon, recalling Harry to his surroundings. “What now? Have they sentenced you to anything? Do your lot have the death penalty?” he added as a hopeful afterthought.

“I’ve got to go to a hearing,” said Harry.

“And they’ll sentence you there?”

“I suppose so.”

“I won’t give up hope, then,” said Uncle Vernon nastily.

Harry sneered back at him mockingly, using his thumb to open the second missive. It was in short, curvy handwriting that Harry didn’t recognize.

> Don't leave the house again, whatever you do. Don't endanger yourself any more than you have already. 
> 
> Molly Weasley

Harry found this to be such an inadequate response to everything that had happened tonight that he turned the piece of parchment over, looking for the rest of the letter, but there was nothing there. 

And now his temper was rising again. Wasn't anybody going to say ‘well done’ for fighting off two dementors single-handedly? Both Mr. Weasley and Mrs. Weasley were acting as though he'd misbehaved and they were saving their tellings-off until they could ascertain how much damage had been done. 

“-a peck, I mean, a pack of owls shooting in and out of my house and I won't have it, boy, I won’t-”

“I can't stop the owls coming,” Harry snarled through clenched teeth, crushing Mrs. Weasley's letter in his fist. 

“It’s you,” said Uncle Vernon forcefully. “It’s got something to do with you, boy, I know it. Why else would they turn up here? Why else would they be down that alleyway? You’ve got to be the only - the only-” Evidently he couldn’t bring himself to say the word ‘wizard.’ “The only _you-know-what_ for miles.”

“I don’t know why they were here...”

But at these words of Uncle Vernon’s, Harry’s exhausted brain ground back into action. Why had the dementors come to Little Whinging? How could it be coincidence that they had arrived in the alleyway where Harry was? Had they been sent? Had the Ministry of Magic lost control of the dementors, had they deserted Azkaban and joined Voldemort, as Dumbledore had predicted they would?

“These demembers guard some weirdos’ prison?” said Uncle Vernon, lumbering in the wake of Harry’s train of thought.

“Yes,” said Harry.

If only his head would stop hurting, if only he could just leave the kitchen and get to his dark bedroom and think...

“Oho! They were coming to arrest you!” said Uncle Vernon, with the triumphant air of a man reaching an unassailable conclusion. “That’s it, isn’t it, boy? You’re on the run from the law!”

“Of course I’m not,” said Harry, shaking his head as though to scare off a fly, his mind racing now.

“Then why-?”

“He must have sent them,” said Harry quietly, more to himself than to Uncle Vernon.

“What’s that? Who must have sent them?”

“Lord Voldemort,” said Harry.

The Dursleys, who flinched, winced and squawked if they heard words like ‘wizard,’ ‘magic,’ or ‘wand,’ could head the name of the most power Dark Lord of all time without the slightest tremor. Only Aunt Petunia showed any outward reaction: she grasped the edge of the table in an iron grip and, seemingly to keep herself from falling, sunk slowly into the chair she had vacated only moments earlier, looking at the ground with an empty stare.

“Lord - hang on,” said Uncle Vernon, his face screwed up, a look of dawning comprehension in his piggy eyes. “I’ve heard that name... that was the one who...”

“Killed my parents, yes,” Harry said.

“But he’s gone,” said Uncle Vernon impatiently, without the slightest sign that the murder of Harry’s parents might be a painful topic to anybody. “That giant bloke said so. He’s gone.”

“He’s back,” said Harry heavily. “Since June, he’s been back.”

“Back?” whispered Aunt Petunia.

She was looking at Harry as she had never looked at him before. And all of a sudden, for the very first time in his life, Harry fully appreciated that Aunt Petunia was his mother’s sister. He could not have said why this hit him so very powerfully at this moment. All he knew was that he was not the only person in the room who had an inkling of what Lord Voldemort being back might mean. Aunt Petunia had never in her life looked at him like that before. Her large, pale eyes (so unlike her sister’s) were not narrowed in dislike or anger: They were wide and fearful. The furious pretense that Aunt Petunia had maintained all Harry’s life - that there was no magic and no world other than the world she inhabited with Uncle Vernon - seemed to have fallen away.

“Yes,” Harry said, talking directly to Aunt Petunia now. “He was resurrected a month ago. I saw it.”

Her hands found Dudley’s massive leather-clad shoulders and clutched them.

“Hang on,” said Uncle Vernon, looking from his wife to Harry and back again, apparently dazed and confused by the unprecedented understanding that seemed to have sprung up between them. “Hang on. This Lord Voldything’s back, you say.”

“Yes.”

“The one who murdered your parents.”

“Yes.”

“And now he’s sending dismembers after you?”

“Looks like it,” said Harry.

“I see,” said Uncle Vernon, looking from his white-faced wife to Harry and hitching up his trousers. He seemed to be swelling, his great purple face stretching before Harry’s eyes. He was preparing for an outburst, much like the one he’d seen when he’d arrived with Dudley slung over his shoulders like game he’d shot in a field-

“Get out."

Harry blinked at the fire that seemed to have ignited in Aunt Petunia’s eyes as she stood up menacingly.

“What?” he asked.

“You heard your aunt - OUT!” Uncle Vernon bellowed, and even Aunt Petunia and Dudley jumped. “OUT! OUT! I should’ve done it years ago! Owls treating the place like a rest home, puddings exploding, half the lounge destroyed, Dudley’s tail, Marge bobbing around on the ceiling, and that flying Ford Anglia - OUT! OUT! I've had it! You’re history! You’re not staying here if some loony’s after you, you’re not endangering my wife and son, you’re not bringing trouble down on us, if you’re going the same way as your useless parents, I’ve had it! OUT!”

Harry stood rooted to the spot. The letters from the Ministry and the Weasleys were crushed in his left hand. He glanced at Aunt Petunia involuntarily. She wouldn’t throw him out, right? The part of him that was still a child kicked and wailed. They were family, they were blood… she wouldn’t abandon him, she couldn’t.

He stared at her, mouth partially open. He could see the creases in her forehead and around the corners of her mouth deepen before she took a deep breath and looked him resolutely in the eyes with a carefully blank mask.

“I won’t have my family endangered,” she said, the hand clutching Dudley’s shoulder tightening on its quarry. “I won’t die like-” She stopped short and abruptly lowered her head, looking slightly ashamed.

She hadn’t finished her sentence, but Harry knew what she was going to say. Lily Potter had laid down her life to protect his, and her coward of a sister couldn’t even pluck up the courage to utter the syllables of her name?

Harry’s heart fell through his stomach, to the soles of his feet, and possibly through the faded carpet. Was this really happening?

“You heard her!” said Uncle Vernon, bending forward now, so that his massive purple face came closer to Harry’s, so that Harry actually felt flecks of spit hit his face. “Get going! You were all keen to leave half an hour ago! I’m right behind you! Get out and never darken our doorstep again! Why we ever kept you in the first place I don’t know. Marge was right, it should have been the orphanage, we were too damn soft for our own good, thought we could squash it out of you, thought we could turn you normal, but you’ve been rotten from the beginning, and I’ve had enough - OWLS!”

The mention of an orphanage was enough to get Harry’s anger brewing again, unnaturally hot and dangerously close to boiling over, but his tongue, moments away from uttering a curse he would probably regret, froze as another owl zoomed down the chimney so fast it actually hit the floor before zooming into the air again with a loud screech. Harry raised his hand to seize the letter, which was in a scarlet envelope, but it soared straight over his head, flying directly at Petunia, who let out a scream and ducked, her arms over her face. The owl dropped the red envelope on her head, turned, and flew straight up the chimney again.

Harry darted forward to pick up the letter, but Petunia beat him to it.

“You can open it if you like,” said Harry, “but I’ll hear what it says anyway. That’s a Howler.”

“Let go of it, Petunia!” roared Vernon. “Don’t touch it, it could be dangerous!”

“It’s addressed to me,” said Petunia in a shaking voice. “It’s addressed to me, Vernon, look! Mrs. Petunia Dursley, The Kitchen, Number Four, Privet Drive-”

She caught her breath, horrified. The red envelope had begun to smoke.

“Open it!” Harry urged her. “Get it over with! It’ll happen anyway-”

“No-”

Petunia’s hand was trembling. She looked wildly around the kitchen as though looking for an escape route, but too late - the envelope burst into flames. Petunia screamed and dropped it.

An awful voice filled the kitchen, echoing in the confined space, issuing from the burning letter on the table.

“REMEMBER MY LAST, PETUNIA.”

Petunia looked as though she might faint. She sank into the chair beside Dudley, her face in her hands. The remains of the envelope smoldered into ash in the silence.

“What is this?” Vernon said hoarsely. “What - I don’t - Petunia?”

Petunia said nothing. Dudley was staring stupidly at his mother, his mouth hanging open. The silence spiraled horribly. Harry was watching his aunt (was she really, though? She never acted like it…), utterly bewildered, his head throbbing fit to burst.

“Petunia, dear?” said Vernon timidly. “P-Petunia?”

She raised her head. She was still trembling. She swallowed.

“The boy - the boy will have to stay, Vernon,” she said weakly.

“W-what?”

“He stays,” she said, her voice a tad stronger. She was not looking at Harry. She got to her feet again.

“He... but Petunia...”

“If we throw him out, the neighbors will talk,” she said. She was regaining her usual brisk, snappish manner rapidly, though she was still very pale. “They’ll ask awkward questions, they’ll want to know where he’s gone. We’ll have to keep him.”

Vernon was deflating like an old tire.

“But Petunia, dear-”

Petunia ignored him. She turned to Harry, not looking him quite in the eyes.

“You’re to stay in your room,” she said. “You’re not to leave the house. Now get to bed.”

Harry didn’t move, instead opting to try and catch her eye.

“Who was that Howler from?”

“Don’t ask questions,” Petunia snapped, turning her face slightly away from him.

“Are you in touch with wizards?”

“I told you to get to bed!”

“What did it mean? Remember the last what?”

“Go to bed!”

“How come-?”

“YOU HEARD YOUR AUNT, NOW GET TO BED!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5,067 words
> 
> So we've seen Harry's short temper. We see Petunia try to chuck Harry out. Next chapter, we'll see Harry's reaction to being trailed.


	2. The Guard

It took Harry an embarrassingly long time to figure out that the person who’d written the Howler had to have written to Petunia before. He couldn’t pinpoint when, as Vernon wasn’t exactly fond of owls, but he supposed it could’ve been disguised as a normal letter coming through the Muggle post.

Still… it had sounded an awful lot like Petunia was being threatened and, judging by her reaction, she held a great deal of fear for whoever had sent that letter. Harry fought down the worry he felt, set on not feeling sorry for the woman who’d been ready to throw him out the second she had a chance.

Up and down he paced, consumed with anger and frustration, grinding his teeth and clenching his fists, casting angry looks out at the empty, star-strewn sky every time he passed the window. Dementors sent to get him, Mrs. Figg and Mundungus Fletcher tailing him in secret, then suspension from Hogwarts and a hearing at the Ministry of Magic - and still no one was telling him what was going on.

And what had that Howler been about? Whose voice had echoed so horribly, so menacingly, through the kitchen?

Why was he still trapped here without information? Why was everyone treating him like some naughty kid? _Don’t do any more magic, stay in the house…_

A sharp pain in his scar stopped him from kicking his school trunk as he passed it, bringing a hand to his forehead and gently massaging the oddly-shaped scar. It had been hurting on and off the whole summer, and Harry hadn’t thought anything of it. Voldemort had just been resurrected, after all, there was bound to be some sort of magical interference.

~ø~

> Get me out of here. Now.

Copying these words three times onto a single piece of parchment had felt therapeutic, and ripping it into three even sections felt even better, but the four day wait only fanned the fires of his anxiety. Ron taking a long time to respond wasn’t really a cause for concern, but Hermione and Sirius normally picked up a quill as soon as they got his letters. Had something happened? What could be so important that-

And then, quite distinctly, there was a crash in the kitchen below.

He froze, listening intently for any sort of noise. The Dursleys couldn’t be back, it’d only been five minutes since they’d left for the All-England Best-Kept Suburban Lawn Competition, and in any case he hadn’t heard their car.

There was silence for a few seconds, and then he heard hushed voices.

 _Burglars_ , he thought, sliding off the bed onto his feet as quietly as he could. His bed had been a hand-me-down from Dudley and was normally very creaky, but whatever god was watching him seemed to take pity on him, for his bed made no sound at all.

He snatched up his wand from his bedside table and stood facing his bedroom door, listening with all his might. Next moment he jumped as the lock gave a loud click and his door swung open.

Harry narrowed his eyes. This was almost certainly some sort of magic, but he still wrapped his fingers around Dudley’s old baseball bat. If his nearly 4 years in the magical world had taught him anything, it was that you could never be too careful.

Staring through the open door at the dark upstairs landing, Harry strained his ears for further sounds, but none came. He hesitated for a moment and then moved swiftly and silently out of his room to the head of the stairs, clutching his wand in one hand and the bat in the other.

His heart shot upward into his throat. There were people standing in the shadowy hall below, silhouetted against the streetlight glowing through the glass door; eight or nine of them, all, as far as he could see, looking up at him. They turned toward him in unison and Harry mentally cursed himself because he’d just foolishly given away the only advantage he had: surprise.

“Lower your wand, boy, before you take someone’s eye out,” said a low, growling voice.

Harry’s heart was thumping uncontrollably. He knew that voice, but he did not lower his wand.

“Moody?” he said uncertainly. “Mad-Eye Moody?”

The voice grunted an affirmative. “Get down here, we want to see you properly.”

Harry lowered his wand slightly but did not relax his grip on it, nor did he move. He had very good reason to be suspicious. He had recently spent nine months in what he had thought was Mad-Eye Moody’s company only to find out that it wasn’t Moody at all, but an impostor; an impostor, moreover, who had tried to kill Harry before being unmasked. But before he could make a decision about what to do next, a second, slightly hoarse voice floated upstairs.

“It’s all right, Harry. We’ve come to take you away.”

Harry’s heart leapt. He knew that voice too, though he hadn’t heard it for more than a year.

“Remus?” he said disbelievingly. “Is that you?”

“Why are we all standing in the dark?” said a third voice, this one completely unfamiliar, a woman’s. “Lumos.”

A wand tip flared, illuminating the hall with magical light. Harry blinked. The people below were crowded around the foot of the stairs, gazing intently up at him, some craning their heads for a better look.

Remus Lupin stood nearest to him. Though still quite young, Lupin looked tired and rather ill; he had more gray hair than when Harry had said good-bye to him, and his robes were more patched and shabbier than ever. Nevertheless, he was smiling broadly at Harry, who tried to smile back through his shock.

“Oooh, he looks just like I thought he would,” said the witch who was holding her lit wand aloft. She looked the youngest there; she had a pale heart-shaped face, dark twinkling eyes, and short spiky hair that was a violent shade of violet. “Wotcher, Harry!”

“Yeah, I see what you mean, Remus,” said a bald black wizard standing farthest back; he had a deep, slow voice and wore a single gold hoop in his ear. “He looks exactly like James.”

“Except the eyes,” said a wheezy-voiced, silver-haired wizard at the back. “Lily’s eyes.”

Harry rolled the eyes everyone seemed to be so fond of. Some things never change.

~ø~

This felt unreal, though Harry was not sure whether or not it was good or bad. Four weeks with nothing, not the tiniest hint of a plan to remove him from Privet Drive, even after the Dementor attack, and suddenly a whole bunch of wizards was standing matter-of-factly in the house as though this were a long-standing arrangement. He glanced at the people surrounding Lupin; they were still gazing avidly at him.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he snapped at them and they each averted their eyes.

“Er…” Lupin smoothed back his hair, plastering an awkward smile on his face. “Well, there are some new faces here, eh? This is Alastor Moody and his protege, Nymphadora-”

“Don’t call me Nymphadora,” said the young witch with violently purple hair.

“-Nymphadora Tonks-Black, who prefers to be known by her mother’s maiden surname, Black,” finished Lupin with a loaded look in Harry’s direction.

“Black?” he asked, a smile splitting his face. “As in Sirius Black?”

“That’s the one,” she said. “My mum is his cousin.”

“Brilliant.”

“And this is Kingsley Shacklebolt” -Lupin indicated the tall dark-skinned wizard, who bowed- “Elphias Doge” -the wheezy-voiced wizard nodded- “Dedalus Diggle-”

“We’ve met before,” squeaked the excitable Diggle, dropping his top hat.

“-Emmeline Vance” -a stately looking witch in an emerald-green shawl inclined her head- “Sturgis Podmore” -a square-jawed wizard with thick, straw-colored hair winked- “and Hestia Jones.” A pink-cheeked, black-haired witch waved from next to the toaster.

Feeling quite like he’s been ushered onstage for a speech and he’d dropped his flashcards, Harry just inclined his head and gave each of them what Hermione called his 'press smile'.

“We’re your guard, Potter,” grumbled Moody.

“Oh, really?” Harry crossed his arms over his chest and focused his attention on the wizened man, who was missing a chunk of his nose. “Does that guard include Mundungus Fletcher and Arabella Figg from a few houses over?”

Dedalus Diggle dropped his hat again and Emmeline Vance - who reminded Harry of Professor McGonagall - stood ramrod straight.

Silence blanketed them.

“It does, as a matter of fact,” said Lupin in a tone of forced cheer. “You have to understand, Harry. It’s for your own safety.”

“Safety, eh?” Harry felt angry again, though he kept his voice even. “Yeah, I’m feeling real safe right now.”

“Now, listen here, Potter,” growled Moody. “Don’t be ungrateful of the sacrifices we make to keep you safe. We’re putting our neck on the line to save yours.”

It wasn’t exactly a smart decision to get on the bad side of an Auror who’d been hunting dark wizards since he’d been in diapers, but Harry wasn’t exactly known for his smart decisions, and he wasn’t going to start now.

“Oh, yeah… right, I forgot all about that.” Harry leaned forward and placed his elbows on the back of the chair across from Moody. “Tell me, how did you end up getting rid of the dementors? I’d’ve been a goner if you hadn’t been there.”

The silence held for a few seconds, in which Harry and Moody glared at each other, until the young witch with purple hair - though it was now a bright shade of bubble gum pink - laughed loudly from the doorway, holding his Firebolt in her hand and his school trunk by her feet.

“Are you in Slytherin, Harry?” She - he supposed he should think of her as ‘Black’ instead of ‘Nymphadora’ - tossed him his broom.

Harry blinked at her, taken aback by her question. No one had asked him that in a long time. “Er, no. I’m in Gryffindor.”

Black wrinkled her nose. “Gryffindor?” She moaned, dropping her face in her hands. “Not another one… I’m going to be outnumbered!”

“Outnumbered? Were you in Slytherin?”

“Me? No, I was in Hufflepuff,” Black said easily. “I’d just rather have one Slytherin and one Gryffindor than two Gryffindors.”

“Right,” said Harry, assuming she was talking about Remus. “Sorry about that.”

Black shrugged. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, waving her wand and checking her watch as Harry’s trunk rose a few inches into the air. “Time’s almost up, we should get out to the garden.”

“Excellent!” cried Remus, looking around at them with the air of a man who was immensely glad to be rid of the tense atmosphere. “We’ve got about a minute, I think. Harry, I’ve left a letter telling your aunt and uncle not to worry-”

“They won’t,” said Harry.

“That you’re safe-”

“That’ll just depress them.”

“-and you’ll see them next summer.”

“Do I have to?”

Remus smiled pityingly but didn’t say anything else. Everyone abandoned what had recently caught their attention; Kingsley Shacklebolt and Sturgis Podmore had been examining the microwave and Hestia Jones was laughing at a potato peeler she had come across while rummaging in the drawers. Harry found it endearing how they were so fascinated by things that were so mundane in the Muggle world. He was probably the same, though, when he first entered the world of magic.

“So, how’re we getting… wherever we’re going?” Harry asked as they moved to the front door. “Brooms, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah,” said Remus, looking at Harry out of the corner of his eye. “How’d you know?”

“Well, it’s the only method of transport that doesn’t have a trace by the Ministry. I don’t know how to Apparate, they’ll be watching the Floo Network, and I wasn’t sure whether or not you would risk setting up a Portkey-”

Everyone turned to him, watching him with wide eyes.

“-and Black’s first reaction to us leaving was to hand me my broom.”

Remus and Moody exchanged glances, while Black snorted into her hand.

“Are you sure you’re not in Slytherin?” she asked.

“Pretty sure, yeah.”

“Come here, boy,” said Moody gruffly, beckoning Harry toward him with his wand. “I need to Disillusion you.”

He eyed the wand warily. He wasn’t overly fond of letting the man he’d just argued with cast a spell on him like nothing had happened. “You need to what?”

“Disillusionment Charm,” said Moody, raising his wand. “Lupin says you’ve got an Invisibility Cloak, but it won’t stay on while we’re flying; this’ll disguise you better. Here you go-”

He rapped Harry hard on the top of the head and Harry felt a curious sensation as though Moody had just smashed an egg there; cold trickles seemed to be running down his body from the point the wand had struck.

“Nice one, Mad-Eye,” said Tonks appreciatively, her dark eyes staring right through Harry’s midriff.

Harry looked down at his body, or rather, what had been his body, for it didn’t look anything like his anymore. It was not invisible; it had simply taken on the exact color and texture of the kitchen unit behind him. He seemed to have become a human chameleon.

“Clear night,” grunted Moody, his magical eye scanning the heavens. “Could’ve done with a bit more cloud cover. Right, you,” he barked at Harry, “we’re going to be flying in close formation. Black’ll be right in front of you, keep close on her tail. Lupin’ll be covering you from below. I’m going to be behind you. The rest’ll be circling us. We don’t break ranks for anything, got me? If one of us is killed-”

“Is that likely?” Harry asked, glancing around at their little group apprehensively, but Moody ignored him.

“-the others keep flying, don’t stop, don’t break ranks. If they take out all of us and you survive, Harry, the rear guard are standing by to take over; keep flying east and they’ll join you.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry started, “The rear guard? There’s more of you lot?”

They seems to be deliberately ignoring him, as even Black and Remus seemed intently focused on readying their brooms.

“Stop being so cheerful, Mad-Eye, he’ll think we’re not taking this seriously,” said Black, as she pulled one of his casual muggle coats from his trunk, strapped along with Hedwig’s cage in a harness hanging from her broom. She tapped her wand against it once and Harry saw a silvery sheen coat the garment.

“Here,” she said, holding out the warm fabric to Harry’s left. “It’ll keep you warm and dry.”

“Thanks,” he murmured, taking the coat and putting it on. It blended into his surroundings along with the rest of him and he shot her a smile before realizing that she couldn’t see him.

“I’m just telling the boy the plan,” growled Moody. “Our job’s to deliver him safely to headquarters and if we die in the attempt-”

“No one’s going to die,” said Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep, calming voice.

“Mount your brooms, that’s the first signal!” said Remus sharply, pointing into the sky.

Far, far above them, a shower of bright red sparks had flared among the stars. Harry recognized them at once as wand sparks. He swung his right leg over his Firebolt, gripped its handle tightly, and felt it vibrating very slightly, as though it was as keen as he was to be up in the air once more.

“Second signal, let’s go!” said Lupin loudly, as more sparks, green this time, exploded high above them.

Harry kicked off hard from the ground. The cool night air rushed through his hair as the neat square gardens of Privet Drive fell away, shrinking rapidly into a patchwork of dark greens and blacks, and every thought of the Ministry hearing was swept from his mind as though the rush of air had blown it out of his head. He felt as though his heart was going to explode with pleasure; he was flying again, flying away from Privet Drive as he’d been fantasizing about all summer…

He was going home.

~ø~

"Here," Moody muttered, thrusting a piece of parchment toward Harry's Disillusioned hand and holding his lit wand close to it, so as to illuminate the writing. "Read quickly and memorize."

Harry looked down at the piece of paper. The narrow handwriting was vaguely familiar. It said:

_The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London._


End file.
